Minor Adjustments (8 page)

“You know, you’ve got some nerve—”

“I’ve got nerve?” Shoving her chair back, Stella stood. “I don’t know why you’re blaming me for this. I wasn’t the one who lived with your family for nine months. I wasn’t the one who had a baby on my own. I wasn’t the one who listed you in her will. And I wasn’t the one who died!” With her palms planted on the table, she dropped her head, shoulders shaking. When her eyes finally met his again, tears coursed down her cheeks. “I was the one who tried to convince Lindsay to choose me.”

Devon felt an almost physical impact, as if her words had literally struck him. He took a step back. He needed to get away. He needed time to think and less suffocating air to breathe. He needed Stella’s tear-filled eyes to look at someone else.

So he turned and walked away.

Through the patio door and into the kitchen—Devon stopped short when he saw bubbles. Lots of bubbles. They oozed from the dishwasher, covered the floor, and seeped into the great room.

“What the heck?” This couldn’t be happening. Not now.

“Oh look, you mopped the floor too,” Stella said from behind.

Devon struggled to push the claustrophobia aside, at least long enough to deal with the mess. “There was only one kind of soap under your sink. I figured it was dishwashing detergent.”

“I’m out of dishwashing soap.”

Devon turned on her. “Why didn’t you say anything? You knew I loaded the dishes.”

Pushing past him, Stella said, “I didn’t know you turned the dishwasher on.”

“For crying out loud! Who washes dishes and doesn’t turn it on?”

“It wasn’t even full!”

“So?”

Stella glared before she stepped through the bubbles to stop the machine. “Just go. Please. Just go.”

Gladly.
Devon didn’t need to be told twice and practically bolted for the front door.

“Wait,” her voice called out as he grabbed the handle.
What now?

“Please.” Stella shoved a wrinkled envelope into his hand. “Read this before you make any decisions.”

Stuffing it into his pocket, Devon flung open the door and left.

Devon didn’t know how long he’d been on the train or where it was headed. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was getting away from Stella. And Ryan too. As if distance would alleviate the pressure and allow him to think.

If only Lindsay Caldwell had never come to America.

Devon knew it was harsh, but he didn’t care. He wanted to confront Lindsay and tell her she’d made a mistake—a horrible mistake. That she needed to come back and set it straight. But Lindsay was gone. And like a squashed bug on a windshield, she’d left a big splat behind.

Devon’s palm hit the back of the seat in front of him, and several passengers turned to stare. At the next stop, he left the train behind. Crossing a street, he looked up at the sky.
Why God? Why me?
It was as though he was being punished, but for what? Committing an act of kindness? If Devon had been rude to Lindsay or simply ignored her, he wouldn’t be in this situation now. But he’d been nice, complimentary even.

And how had she thanked him?

By messing up his life from her grave.

⇐ ⇑ ⇒

“I’m sorry I’m so late.” Devon left the door open, hoping Colleen would take the hint.

No such luck. Colleen smiled but remained seated in the armchair. “I don’t mind. Ryan is a delight, and we’ve had a wonderful time together. He’s now snug as a bug in bed.”

“Thanks for watching him for me.”

“Did you have a nice time with Stella?”

“Sure.”
Until she shoved me under the bus.

Eyebrows raised, Colleen said, “For someone who just spent the majority of the day with a pretty girl, you don’t look happy.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“So you don’t like her then?”

Was this really happening to him after the day he’d been through? “I do like her. She just told me some things that made me angry. In fact, if you want to know the truth, we had lunch together and then I spent the rest of the day riding around on a train and walking.” Devon collapsed on the couch. “On a positive note, I now feel as though I’m learning my way around downtown Sydney.”

Colleen’s expression fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, but thanks for asking. And thanks again for taking care of Ryan. I owe you.”

Colleen stood and picked up something she’d been crocheting. It looked like a blanket. “You should call your mom.”

Devon wanted to laugh at her random, unasked-for advice. He wanted to smile. But finding humor in anything now felt too foreign. Too impossible. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Good.” Colleen patted his cheek. “Mothers always know the right thing to say. They’re a gift straight from heaven, you know. And I’m not just saying that because I’m a mom.”

The door closed, and Devon tossed aside her advice. What could his mother possibly say, anyway? Nothing. She could only listen and worry, which was exactly why he wouldn’t call. Why make someone else shoulder his problems?

They’re a gift straight from heaven.
The words echoed in Devon’s mind.

It was true. His mom was a gift from heaven. How many times had she been there for Devon? Hugged him when he was sad. Helped him with school projects, read to him, listened to him. Given him advice. And right now, more than ever, Devon needed some advice. Some good advice.

So he pulled out his phone and called Lydia Pierce.

“Devon, is that you?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong for me to call you?”

“It’s five in the morning, sweetie. Usually you call at a reasonable hour.”

Could nothing go right today? “I’m sorry, Mom. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll call back in a few hours.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I’m already awake and headed to the family room so I won’t wake your father. Now what’s going on? Is Ryan okay? I really wish you’d call more often.”

“I talked to you three days ago.”

“Exactly.”

Devon sighed. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“I know and I understand. What can I do for you?”

“I need some advice, Mom.”

“Well you came to the right place,” Lydia teased. “I really should write a book one of these days.”

Devon actually smiled. It felt good. Even managed to release some of the aching pressure from his head—enough to get him talking, at least. The words gushed out as Devon told his mother everything. From the Caldwell’s nastiness to Stella’s duplicity, Lydia heard it all.

When he finished, Devon waited for her words of wisdom. She’d know what to do. How to turn it all around so that Ryan would end up with a good family and Devon could return to America alone.

But no answers came. No words of wisdom. “Mom? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Lydia said. “I’m just wondering what it is you want me to say.”

“How should I know? You’re the one who could write a book. You tell me.”

Her throaty chuckle spanned the globe and sounded loud in his ear. “Ah, sweetheart, I’m afraid this is one of those situations where I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your life. You need to decide what the right thing is for yourself.”

“That’s just it. No decision is a good one. Ryan gets screwed either way.”

“I disagree,” Lydia said. “I think you’d make a wonderful father.”

Of course she would think that—she was his mother. “And what about my job? Am I supposed to take him with me to work?”

Silence.

“Mom?”

“Honey, in your mind, this is a lose-lose situation. You’re not seeing the big picture. All you’re seeing is the here and now, when what you really need to do is think about the future. Regardless of what you decide, everyone’s life will continue to move forward. Whether Ryan comes home with you or not, he’ll grow up and live his life, with you or with someone else. If you decide to bring him back with you, you’ll find a way to make it work. In other words, stop worrying about the now and focus on making a decision you can live with.”

Devon felt like cursing. Where was the door number three? The “everyone goes home a winner” solution? Nowhere. There wasn’t one. Not even his gift of a mother could find one.

“Uh, thanks, Mom, but I should go.”

“I know you’ll make the right choice. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Devon dropped his head to his hands. Why wish for a third door when there really wasn’t even a second?

Why hadn’t Lindsey added a contingency? Something to the effect of: “If Devon can’t or won’t take Ryan, I want my son to be raised by Stella Walker.” It was like Lindsay had kept it out on purpose, knowing it would force Devon to take her son. The ultimate manipulation. The ultimate trap. And it had worked. A ball and chain was now clamped around Devon’s ankle, and there was no way to break it free—not if he wanted to live with himself.

Slowly, Devon picked himself up off the couch and rummaged around in his suitcase for pajamas. He needed sleep and lots of it. Maybe things would look better in the morning. More clear. Wadding up his khaki shorts, he paused when a crackling sound came from the back pocket. The letter. He’d forgotten all about it.

Sinking down onto the couch, Devon removed a wrinkled and creased paper from the envelope, unfolded it, and read Lindsay’s letter. Then he reread it.

Devon couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but by the time he’d refolded the letter, his eyes were wet with tears. Lindsay’s words had penetrated through the walls of stubbornness and found a way to his heart. A feeling of hope drowned out all other emotions, bringing with it the clarity he’d needed. Stella had tried to explain, but it had taken Lindsay’s words—Ryan’s
mother’s
words—to finally make him understand.

In Lindsay’s mind, she hadn’t picked him. God had.

With care, Devon slid the letter back into the envelope. Someday Ryan would be old enough to understand, and Devon planned to keep it safe until that day. There were some words only a mother could say. Colleen had been right after all. Mothers really were a gift straight from heaven.

Devon knew what he needed to do. He’d known it all along but hadn’t wanted to consider it or even think about it until now. Every part of him screamed, “No. There has to be another way.” But deep inside, Devon knew there wasn’t.

With shaking hands, he called Brady.

A raspy voice answered. “Man, you’ve got to get yourself some sort of nightlife in that city so you’ll start calling me at a reasonable hour.”

“Sorry, bro, I’m not thinking right. I’ll make it quick. Have you heard from Walter Hawkins lately?”

Silence. For almost a full minute, Brady’s even breathing echoed through the phone before his friend finally asked, “Why?”

⇐ ⇑ ⇒

Devon sat on the couch next to Ryan. “Hey, bud, I need to talk to you man to man.”

“What does man to man mean?” Ryan grinned. “That sounds funny.”

“Well, I’m a man, and you’re a man, so when we only talk to each other, it’s called man to man.”

“I’m not a man. I’m a koala!” During the past week, Ryan had become a fan of
The Koala Brothers.

Devon patted his knee. “Fine, can we talk man to koala then? Come here.”

Ryan scooted away. “I’m not a koala. I’m a boy.”

“Get over here before I tickle you senseless.”

Ryan giggled and ran. After ten minutes of chasing, tickling, and wrestling, Devon finally managed to get Ryan to sit on his lap.

“Hey, how would you like to live with me?”

“Forever?”

“Uh huh.”

Brown eyes widened. “Here? Where we eat custard every day?”

Devon shook his head. “No. We’d move to America, where I live. You’ll come back with me and stay with me there. We can get a house with a big yard and a swing set and everything.”

“But how will we get there?”

“On an airplane.”

“I get to ride on an airplane? Yay!” Ryan nearly jumped down before Devon caught ahold of him again.

“Whoa, I’m not done yet. If you decide to live with me, that means that after the airplane ride, we won’t come back to Australia for a long time. You will live in America and go to school in America, and you’ll always be with me.”

“Can Stella come with us?”

Devon paused. How to make Ryan understand? “No. She needs to stay here, but we will come back to visit her sometimes, okay? And you can call her anytime you want.” Except during the day. The time difference wouldn’t exactly be kid-friendly, but they’d find a way to make it work.

Ryan’s excitement fled as quickly as it had come. “But I want Stella to live with us too.”

“Maybe she can come to America sometime.”

“To live with us?”

“No, to visit.”

Ryan frowned at the floor.

It had never occurred to Devon how attached a four-year-old could become to an adult. How hard had it been for Ryan to lose his mother? How difficult would it be for him to leave Stella? Ryan deserved stability and love. He deserved to be a child. And from here on out, Devon would see that he got it. He’d be there for Ryan the rest of his life.

And Stella would too . . . from a distance.

Inspired, Devon said, “Hey, what do you say we buy a camera for Stella’s computer? That way when we call her, you can see her on the computer and she’ll be able to see you. Just like you see people on the TV. Would you like that?”

Ryan nodded, a partial smile returning to his face.